Insight
by Lynnliz13
Summary: Drabbles for GermanyxItaly. Looking for completely random quasi-pointless fluff? Right in here. UST because I can't even write a lime.
1. Drabbling On

**Hey all. Author here. I've been reading Hetalia fanfiction for a while now, and I really wanted to write something. Thing is, it's really really hard to come up with something that hasn't already been done. I've got a couple ideas, but they're not ready for print for a long time now.**

**These here are drabbles. I'm going to write them whenever I can. I'm hoping that they'll somehow magically give me inspiration for the perfect plot. They're already giving me insight into the characters... Which is awesome.**

**Anyways. Here it is. In lieu of a better idea, I started my drabble with the word... drabble.**

**Oh, and warning: I tend to use names EXTREMELY RANDOMLY. Human, country, nickname, other? Yeah. Sorry about that.  
**

* * *

There he was, drabbling on and on and on. Did he ever say anything of substance? Were any of the words that came out of his mouth meaningful at all? Or did he just drone on with whatever thoughts popped into his head, as if he were unabashedly performing some kind of stream of consciousness exercise?

That thought begged another question: Did Italy have any secrets at all? Suddenly Germany had a strange urge to peer inside his friend's ear, as if by doing so he could see all his thoughts splayed out across his brain, intended for just one person's eyes.

Ludwig sighed. If only it were that easy. He'd never been very empathetic, compartmentalizing any emotions he might feel himself into the small corners of his mind, trying to stow them some place where they wouldn't interfere with the demands of war or daily life. Feliciano, on the other hand, was governed by emotions nearly as strong as hurricane winds, swirling around inside him and leaking out whenever they could. You could always tell when Italy was happy by the way his eyes would light up and his hair would bounce and his feet seemed to be made of springs as he walked. When he was sad, his smile would become hollow or drop from his face altogether; his shoulders would sag, and even the strange little curl on the side of his head would seem to droop with unhappiness. Reading Italy was as easy as reading a book.

At least, it should have been. Germany reasoned that thoughts ran independent of emotions, that even if somebody was clearly having a good day there could be no guessing of the reason. Which made it all the more difficult to understand why the little nation insisted on sharing Ludwig's bed, on warm hugs given at random points throughout the day, on feeding him and forcing him to take a break from work and making sure he had an umbrella on rainy days...

Did any of it mean _anything_?

But now his thoughts were going in circles, as they had on many occasions before. For some reason, Ludwig's thoughts always managed to eventually circuit around a certain pair of bright brown eyes with the scent of tomato sauce. If he didn't manage to pull himself together soon he might sit there for hours. Frustrated, Germany grunted and shook his head in disgust.

"I know, that's what _I_ said! How could a whole supermarket run out of pasta? That's got to violate some law of nature, there's _always_ enough pasta, enough pasta to build a house or something! I have, you know. I made it with spaghetti. Romano dared me to do it, he didn't think I could, but I built a big house with a living room and a dining room and a kitchen, which was awesome because when I wanted to make pasta I could just cook the pan and-"

Germany tuned his Feli out once again, fervently thankful that he, unlike Italy, was capable of filtering his thoughts.

* * *

**You can expect the next update early next week because... it's already written. :)**


	2. Marukaite Chikyuu

**I wrote this one on my calculator during math class. Gerita is far more important than the law of sines, no?**

* * *

Germany walked into his office to find Italy sprawled across the floor, surrounded by a carpet of papers, drawing circles like a madman. Dozens upon dozens of circles stared up at him like so many hollow eyes, eternally opened by one stroke of Feliciano's paintbrush. After a moment, Italy finally lifted his head.

"Doitsu, look what I'm doing!" He held up a sheet of paper with a large black circle drawn on it, as if that by itself would sufficiently explain his strange activity.

Germany stepped closer to Italy and squatted next to him, frowning. "Italia... why on earth are you drawing so many circles?"

Italy managed to produce a clean sheet of paper from the mess of Germany's floor. Holding it up so his friend could see, he dipped his brush into the paint and began to draw another circle. "Marukaite... chikyuu!" He pointed at his circle triumphantly, confident that now Ludwig could understand.

But Ludwig still could not understand. He cocked his head and stared at the picture, his frown deepening.

Italy sighed. "It's Japanese. Kiku taught me. I've been doing this since I was a little kid. Look." He painted another circle. "It's the earth. Just one stroke of a paintbrush, and you can see the whole world. We all live inside that little circle, every single one of us." He looked up at Germany, whose eyes were already fixed on Feliciano's face. "Someone should appreciate that, you know?"

Ludwig stared at Italy for a moment longer. Then he took the brush from his friend's hand, painted a circle of his own, and studied it for a moment, pressing the end of the paintbrush to his chin. Then he turned and ruffled Feliciano's hair. "Come on. You look like you could use some pasta."

Italy brightened and stood, nearly tripping over his own feet as he ran for the kitchen. Germany followed, stopping in the doorway to take one final look at the hellish state of his office, thinking of all the cleaning up he would need to do before he would be able to get a single productive thing done. Then he shook his head, smiled, and joined Feliciano in the kitchen.

* * *

**It's short. It's going to stay short. It was written on a calculator. What more do you want?**

**They're so in love and they don't even know. DEFINITELY my OTP. **

**Ooh, speaking of letters, I learned a new word! It's called UST, and it means _Unresolved Sexual Tension_. GerIta has a lot of that, don't you think? Unless you can find the right fics (ooh, scandalous)! :)**

**...I'm new to the fandom. Be nice. -_-**

**And, again, I've got the next one all typed up, so that'll probably be posted by... Friday, methinks. **

**I know it's annoying when people ask for reviews, but even if you hated it you oughta tell me, and even if you don't have an account you can still review. So ha. Now you have no excuse! :)  
**


	3. Bearing Gifts

**EEEEEEEEEE, you guys! Checking my email is so much FUN now! It just makes my whole day! XD**

**I know I said I'd update by Friday, but I didn't write a single drabble all week. And, as you know, I like to wait until I have the next chapter written before I update. This basically means that instead of waiting to update because I have to find something to update with, I'm waiting to update because I have to find the NEXT something to update with. So my genius system is clearly flawed. But I'll try to work on it. In the meantime, here's my awesomeness for your reading pleasure. Gilbert would say it's awesome because of him. I'm not going to argue.  
**

* * *

Gilbert wanted to hang out with Italy, so he started out towards Ludwig's house. It was a rare day that Veneziano couldn't be found at his brother's house; Italy slept over Ludwig's so often he was practically living there.

Prussia knocked on Germany's door, and Germany answered. "Yo," he said, pushing past his brother into the house. "Feeeeliiiiiiii, where aaaaare yoooou?"

After a moment Gilbert heard the sound of feet thumping towards him from the kitchen. He braced himself and spread his arms wide for a hug. "Gilbert~" Italy's voice grew louder as he approached, finally appearing through the door. He ran at Prussia and dove in for a hug.

Despite his preparations, Gilbert still staggered backwards a bit from Veneziano's momentum. He laughed. "Hey, little buddy, how are you?" Feliciano released him and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, looking at Prussia excitedly. Gilbert chuckled again. "Good, I assume." He reached into one of the shopping bags he had brought. "I have presents!"

"Watercolors!" Feli grabbed onto the paint set and sketchpad and stared at them like they were made of gold. "Thank you Gilbert!" He ran off to the kitchen again. "I'm going to paint a bowl of pasta!"

"You're welcome!" Prussia shouted at the steadily fading voice. He turned to look at his brother, who was rolling his eyes at the smaller one's antics. "'Sup?" Gilbert asked him, plopping onto the couch.

Ludwig sighed and sat down on an ottoman. "Thank you for destroying any chance I had at training with him today."

Gilbert feigned regret. "Ooh, yeah, I forgot spending time with Feli was your favorite activity. Sorry 'bout that, Bro."

Germany exhaled, narrowing his mouth and his eyes and clearly trying not to reach out and hit his brother. "You know that every second he's not getting stronger is another second that puts him at risk of invasion, or worse."

Gilbert leaned back against his hands and looked at Germany. "You're so in denial. It's adorable."

Ludwig rolled his eyes again and stood to join Feliciano in the kitchen, muttering something about making sure he didn't kill himself.

Prussia chuckled to himself, then stood up. "Feli! Save some pasta for me!"

* * *

**This one is short. But don't worry ~ the next one will be longerrrrr... :)**

**Prussia is SUPER fun to write. I might have to do a fic about him.**

**Reviews = love! Update coming sooner this time, because I broke my word on the last one. My bad. Love you guys!**


	4. Ludwig's Rules

**So, hey, guess what? This is officially the longest drabble so far. I like it. Hopefully you will, too.**

* * *

Gilbert groaned as the sunrise shown directly onto his eyelids, the pounding in his head pulling him gracelessly from sleep. He rolled away from the window, only to find through his sleepily half-closed eyes that his little brother was staring at him. "Bleahh!" He scrambled back against the couch in alarm, then winced and grabbed his throbbing head. "Ow..."

Ludwig sighed and rubbed his temples with his right hand, holding out a cup of coffee with his left. Clearly the albino man had been out drinking (again) the night before and had needed a place to crash (again). Ludwig was starting to regret giving him a key.

Gilbert took the hot sustenance eagerly, nodding his thanks as he began to guzzle it down. When he was done Ludwig took it without a word and brought it to the kitchen, returning with a plate of wurst. This he gave to his brother before sitting down to watch him eat. "You know," he said, "if you like it here so much you should probably just move back in."

Gilbert blanched. The thought of having to live in his little brother's basement did NOT appeal to him. Like, not at all. It was just so... not-awesome. "No thanks," he said, shuddering. "Though, if I'd get morning breakfast service like this every day it might not be so bad..."

Ludwig tossed a throw pillow at his brother's smirking face and opened his mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Both siblings turned to see Feliciano enter the living room, rubbing his eyes sleepily... and completely naked. "Ve, Ludwig, I smell breakfast..."

Gilbert's jaw dropped, and he looked between the two men in shock. "Gee, West..." He broke into a giant goofy grin. "No wonder you wanted to kick me out!"

Italy brightened at the sound of his friend's voice. "Gilbert!" He ran across the living room and leapt onto the couch, enveloping his guest in an enormous hug.

To his credit, Gilbert handled the embrace well, considering Feliciano's lack of dress. Though Ludwig wasn't sure he could forgive him for insinuating that his relationship with Italy was of THAT sort... He tried to mask his blush with anger, hoping the other two hadn't noticed. "Feliciano! How many times have I told you to dress before coming to eat? Go put some clothes on."

Feliciano pouted at him. "Ve, but Ludwig~"

"Now!"

Feliciano sighed, then released Gilbert and made his way back into Ludwig's bedroom, where he'd long since brought a stash of clothes to wear after sleepovers. The door closed, and Gilbert began to laugh.

"Damn, West, you're getting more action than me! How '_bout_ that?" he said in disbelief.

Ludwig smacked his brother over the head with a nearby book - hardcover. "Bruder, you know my relationship with Feliciano is purely one of friends. We've never even discussed moving things beyond that." His face felt hot, but surely he couldn't be blushing... right?

"Dude. Your face just turned bright red."

Guess not.

"Come on, man, just fess up! If not to him, at least tell _somebody_ how you feel. Everyone knows you like him, you might as well make it official-"

Ludwig cut him off. "Absolutely not."

"You mean you won't even consider it? But what if something awesome happens? What if Feli feels the same way? Wouldn't you be glad you tried? You could be _with_ him, right now, and you're too stubborn to ask?" Ludwig said nothing. "Or are you scared?"

After a long pause, he finally replied. "Feliciano... does not return the sentiment. Trying to progress our relationship would only make it worse."

Gilbert stared at him in disbelief. "You seriously think it's not mutual? That man sleeps with you every night, _naked_, and you think your feelings aren't mutual?"

But Ludwig showed no signs of enlightenment. "If the feelings were mutual, something would have happened by now. The fact that we're friends simply proves that that's all he wishes to be. And I respect his feelings. Even if..." His face darkened again. "...Even if it's not enough for me."

A long silence fell. From the kitchen they could hear a pot filling up with water, a stove clicking to life. After a moment, Gilbert got up. "I'm going to hang out with Feli for a while." He looked at his brother. "You should seriously consider saying something. Really." He pat Ludwig on the shoulder, a rare display of affection between the two, and left the room. Ludwig stared at the ground for a few minutes, and finally stood up, the peace of a decision finally made glinting in his eyes.

* * *

**Next chapter's in the works. This is Finals Week, so it'll either take longer or shorter. Each exam is only a couple hours and then we get to go home, and we have two a day, so it might be faster... or I might actually study (psh!), in which case it'll take longer to get it up. Sorry about that. At least it's... ALMOST regular? :D  
**


	5. How to Ravioli

**Pasta time, woo!

* * *

**"Ve, Germany, it's not that hard, I swear."

"No, Italia, this is actually very difficult. How do you keep the dough from ripping?"

Italy shrugged and turned the crank a little more. Germany, a bit flustered, tried to shove a spoonful of ricotta cheese between the two strips of dough, but only succeeded in pinching his fingers between the rollers for the third time that hour. He winced and shoved his fingertips into his mouth, and realized all at once that he couldn't wait to taste the finished ravioli. This ricotta cheese wasn't so bad.

Italy sighed and took over control of the ricotta spoon. "Here, you just make sure I have a steady feed of the dough through the machine, okay? Don't forget, if you don't pull the ravioli sheet out from underneath it'll start to go back through and they'll get all ruined. That makes it _especially difficult to clean_, and I know how much you'd hate that."

Germany gave up nursing his fingertips. They'd feel fine eventually. He nodded in reply, reaching for the pasta dough.

Italy caught his wrist. "Maybe you should go wash your hands first." Nodding sheepishly, Germany complied.

Somehow, with Italy's help, they managed to create whole sheets of ravioli, and soon Germany's kitchen counters were hidden under blanket after blanket of home-made pasta. Germany grinned at his friend. "So? Shall we cook some?"

But to his surprise, Italy shook his head. "We can't yet. They're not ready."

Germany was confused. They certainly _looked_ ready. Each little square of pasta was just begging to be separated from its friends and dumped into a pot of boiling water. What more did they have to do?

Italy went to the counter and poked one of the sheets. "Look," he said, "they're all squishy." One look at Germany said that he still did not understand. "It's like..." He thought for a moment. "You know how usually pasta is brittle? And how when I make spaghetti in that smaller pot I have to snap it in half first so it all fits?" Germany nodded. "Pasta is supposed to harden up a bit before you pour it into the water. Otherwise it'll just fall apart. Especially with ravioli, which has a filling. So we need to let these dry before we cook them." He grinned. "Ve, Germany, let's go get ice cream!" Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the other man's hand and was dragging him out the front door before the victim even realized what was happening.

Germany sputtered. "B-but, Italia... We... Dessert first? Really?"

"_Yes!_"

.::~+~::.

"Bro! The Awesome Me came to visit you!"

Prussia waited for a response, but heard nothing but his echoing voice and the distant hum of an air conditioner. He grinned evilly. "And raid your kitchen!" he shouted to no one as he made his way to his favorite room in the house.

But for the first time in his life, Prussia was actually shocked into silence. (Well, perhaps not the _first_, but it definitely wasn't a common event.)

All over Germany's kitchen counters was... food.

At least, it _looked_ like it might be food. Prussia wasn't sure. He poked a sheet of beige-ish dough-looking stuff, and felt it squish under his touch. "Hmm... What _is_ this stuff?" The sheets were filled with little mounds of... something. Prussia poked one. The dough popped from the pressure, and a thick white... _cream_-ish thing leaked out. "Eww..." He contemplated it for a moment, then licked it off his fingertip. He rolled the stuff across his tongue like a wine connoisseur inspecting a new find, then licked his lips. "Not bad," he said, regarding the strange food again. He looked around the kitchen at the miles and miles of pockets all across the counters. "They won't miss one more of these..."

He looked back at the ravioli he'd accidentally popped. Then he looked at the one next to it... and popped _that_ one on purpose.

Prussia giggled. This was fun.

He went down the sheet, popping piece after piece of ravioli, and when he looked up again...

...the whole kitchen was full of flattened ravioli, each one seeping cheese like a battle wound.

"...Uh oh."

.::~+~::.

Italy hung off Germany's sleeve, bouncing up and down excitedly, his ice cream cone beginning to melt.

Germany chuckled amusedly at his friend. The other nation had been licking his frozen treat contentedly, making light conversation, when suddenly he'd been struck by the idea of... pasta-flavored ice cream. "Ohhh, Germany, I know _exactly_ how we could make it! All we'd need would be a little bit more milk, to get the cream part, and it would have to be cold and not boiled like pasta, but maybe if we added salt..." Since his stroke of brilliance, he'd been talking too much to be able to actually finish the ice cream he'd wanted so badly to buy.

Hardly a novel event, Germany unlocked his door as usual, and - as usual - instructed Italy to stay on the doorstep and let the ice cream drizzle down his hands and onto the pavement while Germany went to fetch some napkins to help him clean up. They'd learned many times before that dripping ice cream + clean floor = very distressed Germany.

And so, the blond nation made his way to the kitchen, still somewhat listening to his friend's chatter back at the door.

This time, however, he never made it to the paper towel rack before freezing in his tracks.

"Germany? Germany, ve~... You're taking longer than usual..." Italy broke protocol and followed Germany to the kitchen, dropping his ice cream on the floor in shock.

The neat freak couldn't even find it in him to care. All around them, the fruits of their labor were destroyed. Not a single good ravioli remained. Expecting a meltdown, Germany quickly pulled Italy into his arms and held him tightly in comfort. He looked over the smaller nation's shoulder and spotted three small yellow feathers next to the ravioli sheets. "_Gilbert_," he spat.

Italy finally pulled away from Germany and looked up at him. But, shockingly, his face was not scrunched up in sadness. Instead, he had somehow taken on a very mischievous grin. "Oh, I know _exactly_ how we can use _this_ batch of ravioli."

Whatever Italy had planned, Germany knew it would _definitely_ be interesting.

.::~+~::.

They waited behind a parked car, each holding a large sack of the ruined ravioli.

"How much longer, do you think?" Italy asked under his breath.

"Shouldn't be too long now. He usually gets kicked out after a few hours," Germany whispered back.

Suddenly there was a commotion from within the bar. They peeked their heads through the windows of their hiding place, and sure enough, a scary-looking bouncer appeared at the door, dragging a very drunk Prussia with him. He tossed the albino onto the pavement. "And stay out!" he thundered.

"Well, fine!" Prussia shouted back, his speech slurring dramatically. "I don't need you guys anyway. German beer is better than your crap!" He turned and stumbled a bit, looking back and forth, trying to remember which way he was supposed to walk.

"_Now!_" Germany shouted, and the two stood up, reached into their bags, and began to pelt the man with hardened ravioli.

"Ow, owie!" Prussia shouted. "Heyy, what's going on? Help, help me Gilbird! Gilbird! Argh!" He ducked and covered his head, then ran, swerving and stumbling, in the opposite direction.

"Nice!" Germany turned to Italy and held his hand up for a high five. Italy, however, ignored the gesture, choosing instead to tackle him in a characteristically enthusiastic hug. Germany held him awkwardly for a moment, surprised, but soon smiled and returned the embrace, unconsciously stroking Italy's hair.

_Prussia should ruin Italy's pasta more often_, he thought.

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**Ta da! Long chapter is long. I've actually made ravioli like this, and it comes out pretty good. I thought about making this a one-shot cuz it kinda took off on me, but I figured it's been, what, two weeks now? You guys deserve an update.  
**

**Have I mentioned how much I _love_ writing Prussia? Because I do. I think I'm going to come up with some random story just so I can write something from his point of view. **

**Speaking of other stories, I should tell you that this won't be my main focus anymore. I'm turning my attention to other projects now that summer's finally come around. I'll still try to update this, of course, but I might disappear for a while to write out more other-stuff. (I have a plot idea now! WOOHOO! XD) Check out my profile for details... if you dare. MWAhahahaha!  
**


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